Keepers of the Lost Lore
by Roundheaded
Summary: AU: 'True tests never end,' she'd always keep that counsel in mind. How far should she go to prove her worth and find her place among the humans who despise elves and hate mages?
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer: Bioware owns all but some of the new characters I made for this story.**

**A/N: **My sincerest thanks to Empire of Dust for betaing my prologue. For her and all the mage MC :)

* * *

Sitting snugly on a makeshift bed of several bedrolls were two elves, one a big-eyed child and the other, despite the hardened lines round her mouth and eyes, still retained much of the gracefulness one often attributed to an elf. They were conversing in elvish, the older elf held an open tome on her lap.

"'We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore, walkers of the lonely path. We are the last of the Elvhenan, and never again shall we submit.' That is our oath, da'len, made after our second homeland fell." Sadness shadowed the elven woman and she was silent for a long moment. She looked at the little girl beside her then her hand brushed over the little girl's hair lightly, "Think you can remember the oath?"

"Of course, mamae," the little girl began to recite, "We are the Dalish: keepers of the lost lore -"

"Open up!" a voice calling outside knocked the door with such force that it shook the frail plank-walls.

The elven woman frowned. She hid the tome under the bedrolls and motioned for the little girl to hide herself. She waited till the girl crouched behind a stack of crates piling in a corner before she opened the door.

"What is it, ser?" she eyed the three armored men with an evident look of unwelcome.

"We're templars from Highever Chantry. We've been informed your daughter has shown... magical talent," said the eldest templar as his eyes swept round the room. It was largely empty save for some bedrolls and crates piled in a haphazard way, "Where is she? By law and order of the Revered Mother, we need to take your daughter with us to the Circle of Magi. There, she can learn magic with -"

"You must be mistaken, ser," the elf interrupted impatiently, "My girl is barely six and has difficulties getting your shem words right."

"Magic needn't words sometimes. Hand your daughter over; if there was a mistake, we will bring her back, I promise." the templar took a step closer.

"I don't want to go with them, mamae!" The little girl understood enough to know the shem came for her. Terrified of being taken away from her mother - the only world she'd known - she stood up from her hiding and pleaded.

"Da'len..." the elven woman looked at her daughter, her eyes softened with love.

They were speaking in elvish and the templars couldn't understand a word. Nevertheless, they'd done this more than they could count and they'd expected resistance of certain degree.

"Move aside, elf," ordered the eldest templar as he used himself as barricade to restrict the elven woman. Taking his cue, the other two templars marched in toward the little girl who stared at the intruders with wide eyes.

"Come, child. There is no need to be afraid of us," one of them coaxed. His younger partner - still a trainee in truth - put his hand on the hilt of his sword. He was taught that all mages are evil. He had seen the scars of those 'evil deeds' on many of the senior templars. He believed it. The girl backed away while muttering under her breath.

"What?"

Without warning, a freezing gale blew in the direction of the three templars and they were frozen in place and pose. The mother was shielded by the templar who had tried to refrain her movement. Seeing that the harm had been done, she grabbed her daughter's hand and ran. To the east lay the woods where they'd spent time often.

The sun was setting and many villagers were inside their homes preparing dinner. Columns of smoke rose lazily, mixed with sweet fragrance of cooking. It would be a peaceful sight if there weren't templars hot on their heels. A few houses down, they passed a family where both father and son were notorious as the village's bullies. They were sitting by their door this moment and looked surprised to see them - only them. The elven woman understood what must have transpired when she saw a fresh whipped mark on the fat son's forehead.

She knew the mark well, but how -? She looked down at her little girl who had trouble keeping up. The girl smiled up at her when she caught her mother's gaze. _Oh Creators_... they almost reached the woods, but she heard shouts behind them.

"There! There! They ran to the woods!"

"Don't let 'em filthy elves get away!"

"Stop, elves!" one of the templars warned, "You cannot escaped the Chantry!"

It was lucky the templars were slowed by their own heavy armors. At the edge of the woods, the elven woman picked her daughter up and disappeared into the thick foliage. She knew this wood well, and trees... were friends of the elvhen. They could shake them off.

The moon was out and lent her light to the forest floor. All seemed quiet except for a few hoot-toots. The mother and daughter dropped themselves softly down from their hiding place amidst the branches. The little girl rubbed her eyes; she was tired from the anxiety of waiting up on the tree, and she missed her cosy bed at home.

The mother carefully picked her way through the woods. When they reached a small clearing, she paused and cocked her head to listen hard, there was a very low hissing of running water her keen elven ear could barely discern.

"Freckled moon -" the girl smiled, pointing above them.

"Yes..." the mother glanced up at the same moon, her feelings very different from her daughter's.

It was cold in the woods, the girl shivered a little. Her mother must be feeling cold too, since she worn only a thin robe that barely covered her knees; at least her own ragged dress was taller than herself, the end dragging on the damp ground. She held tightly to her mother's hand.

Never had a shallow stream with its sparkling water rushing somewhere looked more delightful to the two elves. Scoping the icy water in their hand, they drank to fill their hungry stomach. They did not hear a rustling on the opposite bank.

"Oh water! Thank the Maker!"

"Now, if only He would drop some food for us..."

Three pairs of surprised eyes were matched against two in shock.

"I think the Maker just gave us something better -"

"Ven Lathnenin!"

This time the templars weren't to let their prey escaped them so easily. They quickly surrounded the two elves with their swords and shields drawn, meant to intimidate them into yielding. The daughter despite hearing her mother's urge and very much like to do as she said, her feet froze in place, paralyzed as she watched these maniacal shemlen moving closer.

She had once saw a rabbit corned by its predator, with nowhere to run, but the rabbit stared its fate in the eyes as it towered over them. To the surprise of both her and the predator, the rabbit fought back, but it was already wounded and... it didn't end well. Now, she felt like the rabbit, exhausted and scared. Would she end up like that rabbit if she fought back? She made her hands into fists. The tight clench brought a warmth to her palms, and followed by pain as her nails dug into her flesh.

The templars were tensed, after what they had been through at the elves' house. The elven woman hesitated: she didn't want to invite more trouble by killing the templars, neither would she allow her girl to be taken. Time slowed to a crawl with each of them full on their own thoughts.

"Get the girl!" The eldest templar broke the silence as he sheathed his sword and reached out to apprehend the elven woman.

The girl didn't flinched a bit when one templar grabbed her shoulder. It was the mother who acted. She drew out her dagger from a strap around her thigh, kept hidden by her robe, and swiped at the face of the templar coming for her. The templar jumped back; the attack was too sudden and quick, he wouldn't be able to block in time. The dagger's edge made a irksome scraping sound against the metal armor. When she turned to where the other two templars and her daughter were, she noticed her daughter, changed.

Her skin roughened and wrinkled up like tree bark, and roots and vines sprouted out from the ground attacking anything near the girl, friend and foe alike. The thick roots ensnared moving targets and tightened its grip when they struggled. The thinner vines would lash out relentlessly at the trapped victims. The mother gasped.

The templars were trying to chop at the vines. One of them let out a yelp in frustration when his shield arm was totally tied down by the ever growing roots; the young trainee was hacking more at the air than his intended targets. The eldest templar saw it was useless to cut the roots when they kept regrowing at an incredibly fast speed. From the corner of his eyes, he saw the mutated form of the little girl and knew he had to get her to stop these wild attacks, yet he was the farthest away from the girl.

"The... girl... knock her..." he yelled to his partners.

"Tu'halam! Lathnenin, tu'halam!" At the same moment, the mother called to her daughter to stop the attacks. Except for the few exposed skins, the templars were largely protected by their heavy armors. The thin robe of the elven woman suffered as much as its owner, torn and cut up with trickling blood.

The girl broke out of her trance upon hearing her mother's call. The spell weakened as her concentration broke. She saw her mother was bleeding and cried out in panic, "Mamae!"

The trainee templar, enraged by the three gigantic roots tugging at his legs, and one vine about to lash at his face, he let out a loud cry, emanating a wave of pulsing energy hitting both the elves, throwing them back. The mother fell, laying motionless. The girl hit a tree and slumped to a sitting position, stunned with pain. Last thing she saw was her mother's bloodied body; last words she heard was the templars'.

"Bran! I said knock the girl out. How could you smite them, you could have killed the girl!"

"Look what she did! I think I saved us."

"... Hmm, is the mother dead? She killed her..."

She could only understand two words - 'mother' and 'dead' - then darkness claimed her.


	2. Cutscene One

**A/N**: These two Cutscenes are what I initially intended as chapter one and two, but I decided to drop them after giving much thoughts on how I want to tell the story. You can skip these or read them as extras. They are based on a timeline I wrote for happening of events, so they are related to the main story. If there's discrepancy to the MC's personality, it's because I'm still groping around and the latter should be more accurate as to what I want to portray. This is my first fanfic, there's bound to be errors and lots of experimenting. :D

* * *

"Alistair had wished to come but Eamon got hold of him at the palace gate." explained Winona.

"There's a lot of work awaiting our new king, I understand." said Wynne while she struggled with the wind which tugged stubbornly at her cowl.

"A king without a say in his own action? Hmph." Shale stomped her feet in a restless fashion, her eyes kept darting to the sea gulls hovering or perching on poles and roofs that lined the docks. The many white stains on the floor heightened her discomfort.

"He wishes you both safe journey," at this, Winona pulled out a small, heavy-looking pouch and handed it to Wynne. "Take this. It'd be useful on your long voyage ahead. I insist."

"We can't... oh well, thank you." Wynne smiled appreciatively, and added, "Is there anything you'd like from the Minrathous? Most mages considered it a dreamland."

"Well, if you see any interesting tome... Nevermind. I hope you find what you want, Shale."

"I hope so too. It sure it wouldn't come with us? That whiny king surely could take care of himself?"

"I wish." Winona sighed regrettably. She had read a lot about Tevinter in her Circle's days and certainly had heard a lot about it during her travels as Grey Warden; she was most curious about their library collections... and of course a lot of other things as well... she sighed again.

"Oh dear, I think that's our ship and it's setting sail, we'd better go! Take care of yourself and Alistair." Wynne squeezed Winona's hands before picking up her carrying bag and let Shale tackled the heavy trunk. The wind won as soon as Wynne released her hold on her cowl. Winona tried to catch it and only succeeded after several tries.

"Oh thank you!"

"Wait up!" a familiar voice turned their attention.

"Zevran! What a surprise. But I'm afraid we have to go, my dear."

The birds' presence had kept Shale on edge and now she stared down at the Antivan that would make most twitched uneasily.

"You think I'd let you leave without goodbyes and a little parting gift?" Zevran chuckled, "Remember my friend Salvail from Antiva? I wrote down a few of his known addresses I could think of, and some suggestions to his favorite hangouts. I thought you may like to look him up while you stopover in Antiva." Then he leaned forward and spoke in whisper, "Be kind and make no mention of me please. I'm supposedly a dead man in Antiva."

"Egad. I have no intention to meet any of your friends!" Wynne waved his offered paper off with exasperation.

"Give me the word and I'll make that a fact." Shale narrowed her eyes.

A splattered sound landed close to them.

"What's that?" Shale saw the suspicious white substance right next to her feet and became alarmed.

"We better not tarry!" Wynne hurried Shale onwards, and they made it to their ship just as the crewman was about to withdraw the plank.

Wynne waved at them as the ship pulled out of the docks. She hadn't noticed Zevran had slipped his paper safely tucked inside her belt while she was trying to get the edgy Shale going.

Zevran smirked and waved back.

"And now, my dear Warden, I'm at your disposal. May I suggest a stroll nearby? I think the sea air is good."

"I believe you're engaged elsewhere this morning, Zevran. Do you not remember your promise to those orphans you would teach them an Antivan sport?"

"Yes, unfortunately I did..."

"Let's get a move on, shall we?"

"You know, we could still take a stroll... in the direction of the market district, yes?"

* * *

Alistair watched Eamon's mouth: His lips and his tongue moved in perfect coordination to form the consonants and vowels that make his words. He had been listening to Eamon's talk for half hour or so before his attention slipped to observing the mechanism of speech-making and now his focus slipped farther back into his recess of memories. There, he found his retreat...

"Alistair? ... Alistair!"

"W-what?" Alistair startled, rubbing his forehead guiltily "Oh, Eamon... yes, trade must flow... I completely agree!"

"We covered that yesterday, Alistair." Eamon sighed, "I know you have the heart to learn, just not the mind to grasp, Alistair. I've done my best."

"What? You're giving up on me? You can't do that, Eamon!"

"I'm not ashamed to admit teaching is not my strong talent. I can give you advise on specific court cases, but all these theories... I'll have to let someone else to teach you, Alistair."

"W-who else?" Alistair's brows raised.

"Please, show yourself, I know you're here, Master Zevran."

"Master... Zev-?"

A form materialized next to Alistair, causing him to jump away, knocking some books onto the rug with a muffled thud.

"Tsk, tsk, Alistair. I've seen whores better at books than you..." Zevran Arainai clicked his tongue in disapproval, "Looks like we've a lot of work ahead of us, my dear friend."

"Zev-Zevran? W-where... how... did you..." Alistair stuttered in shock.

"I've been hiding behind your chair for some time now. If you weren't so distracted in your own thoughts, you would have noticed. And what were you thinking, so thoughtfully, I wonder?" Zevran smirked.

"I-I... was listening to Eamon, of course!"

"I'm glad you've met. I'll see you tomorrow then, Alistair."

"Wait, Eamon! You can't go! Don't leave me - with him! Eamon!"

Ignoring Alistair, Eamon shut the door behind him. He wondered if the cook still have some broth left from dinner.

"And what do you know about politics, Zevran?" Alistair crossed his arms, as if taking a defensive stance.

"More than you, certainly. Antiva is a place where almost everyone's a politician at heart: from the lowest fish merchant to the highest lord merchant." Zevran sat on the king's chair behind the study table, and rested his legs on the edge of the table. "We Crows play with it like a child plays with his toy." He flipped through the opened book in a careless way. Finally, he shook his head and got up.

"These books do you no good, my dear friend. Come, let's go on a field trip."

"F-field trip?"

"Yes. Listen to the wise words of Master Zevran: Politics is like... like wooing a woman; you have to know how to say the right words, where exactly to touch and caress, and when's the time to be bold and, what's the desire of her heart... and -!" Zevran snapped his fingers.

"Is that so -?"

"Come on! The night waits for no one..." He grabbed Alistair's hand and pulled him along.

"Hey! Let go of my hand! I don't want to start any gossip about us!"

"How about I offer you my arm?" Zevran laughed as Alistair wriggled free of his hand.

* * *

"Where are we going? Gnawed Noble's that way!"

"No, we're going somewhere better! Follow me." Two cloaked figures scurried along the walls' shadows, avoiding guards and passersby, the shorter one leading the way, taking shortcuts through alleys and backyards of occupied houses.

"Are... we trespassing here?" the tall one asked in a low voice.

"No. We're simply passing through. Besides, this way is the shortest to our destination."

"Technically it still is." the tall one glanced around him, taking note of their surrounding, "I don't think I've ever been to this part of the city... Do you notice the houses we passed seem to get more broken and damaged as we go? Andraste's flaming sword! Look at these, it's like... the handiwork of darkspawn!"

"It was. This is the slums, I believe, where the laborers, dockhands live. And not exactly a top priority on your rebuilding plan."

"Why do they stay here? Look, that roof is half gone! That, one wall is totally collapsed!"

"Half roof is better than none? Three walls are always more welcome than the open streets."

"We have set up temporary lodging for those with homes destroyed!"

"Apparently, there are more homeless than the lodgings. Don't get upset, at least they have solid walls. You should take a look at the alienage, that would get you totally tear up, I guarantee."

"You are not very good at comforting, are you?"

"I only offer comforts to my subject of interest."

Alistair stopped at one of the cracks on one wall and looked in. A family of three was sitting snugly by the fire, the child seem to be holding a drawing up to show his parent, they did not look wretched as he thought them would be.

"For shame, Alistair. Now you're peeping on top of trespassing? Come."

"I'm not... peeping! I just looked in, a glance! Not that I'm seeing anything really."

"Like we've never trespassed, yes?"

"Of... course."

After they exited the dirt path to a stone walk, Alistair could see rows of shop houses, some obscured in dark and some shone with lights like beacon that would draw a cold weary traveler in. He could tell they were near the docks by the salty sea breeze that swept the street clean of passersby. Zevran continued down the path till he stopped at one of the lighted doors, above the door hung a simple wooden signboard with carvings of three dogs.

"Welcome to Three Dogs!" Zevran smiled.

* * *

Inside, was a different world to the quiet street outside: It was crowded with standing or sitting men, most of them stout and with weather-beaten skin; the room brightly lit and warmed by a big fireplace on one side of the wall, strong aroma of both cooking and ale filled the air. There was talking and laughter, nobody noticed their entry except a pretty dark-haired barmaid who walked up to them and gave them a greeting nod.

"What can I get you, handsome?" Her eyes lingered on Alistair longer than he'd like.

"Two dogs." Zevran pointed to a corner table.

"Right up!"

"Ahhh, this is the best tavern in Denerim. Good ale, beautiful, obliging barmaids... I found this place a week ago." Zevran took off his cloak and spread it over the back of his chair. "Take yours off if you like. Nobody pays real attention to their neighbor when their brains are half drown in ales."

"I thought we walked into a room of Oghrens, really." Alistair sniffed the air, frown creased into lines.

"Aha," Zevran laughed, "I do kind of miss the dwarf... his belches and farting... good times."

"Huh? What odd things about him you missed. I would never have guessed." Alistair tried to untie the knot of his cloak. "You know, that barmaid, I think she stared at me ... do you think..."

"No. Probably just considering if you're worth her effort."

"Effort?" Somehow the knot turned dead; in frustration, Alistair pulled it off over his head.

"Tip, and perhaps more, my good friend. Ah, here are our drinks." Two mugs were brought to their table by the same barmaid. She smiled at them as she set down their ales, bent over in such a deliberate way that when she turned to leave, her breasts brushed against Alistair's shoulder.

Zevran snickered when he saw Alistair flinched. "She likes you." He took a big gulp of his ale and sighed, "Good stuff!"

"And deem me worthy?" Alistair picked up his ale with a hesitating look. "This is... 'dog?'"

"The owner's special brew. Light, sweet but strong."

"And the tavern's called 'Three Dogs'..."

"Must be your Ferelden thing." Zevran gestured a barmaid over.

"Oy, Zevran. How can I 'elp?" a blond barmaid bounced up to them and greeted Zevran with a wink and sucked at her finger. "Ooh, friend of yours?"

"Yes, this is... Valistair, quite a good friend," he shrugged at Alistair when the blond was looking at Alistair with her wandering eyes, "We're debating why the tavern's called 'Three Dog.' My friend here, thinks there's dog piss inside the ale." Zevran whispered.

The blond laughed so hard that her two heavy mounds shook with her. Alistair and Zevran were mesmerized by the sight.

"Be a good girl and tell us why the tavern's 'Three Dogs?'"

"Nothin' so gross. The boss loves dog; he used to keep dozen or more as pet, but they was all killed by the darkspawn." The blond carefully wiped her tear, trying not to smear her paint. "The signboard worker can only get three dogs on it though."

"Thank you, my dear woman. Another two dogs for us, please." Zevran smacked the blond on her arse and she walked off giggling.

"I told you it was a Ferelden thing."

The barmaid brought their drinks almost instantly. Zevran took out a silver coin and flipped it over to the blond. It landed nicely on her cleavage. She blew a kiss to Zevran. "And nice meetin' you, Valistair." she drawled.

"Hmm." They drank in silence for a minute before Alistair asked, "Did you bring me to the slums intentionally?"

"Hm? Why would I? It was a shortcut."

"Here I thought you meant it as... never mind."

"They are taken care of now, sure, you would need to do your job as king eventually."

"What - by whom?"

Zevran waved the barmaid over for another round of ale. "The Warden, of course. She sent them blankets and food. She offered to take care of the small ones while the adults are out working. You know, with the orphans."

"I... didn't know. Where she get the fund?"

"I think she's one of the few who had amassed her wealth during the Blight." Zevran dropped into a whisper, despite a group of drunks started to sing loudly behind them. "For some reason, I can't forget how she made us gather the deep mushrooms in the Deep Roads... I have kind of avoided mushroom since."

"You don't say. Same here." They raised their mug for a toast, in light of their new understanding.

"This education project she put up for the children is interesting though; a pity my offer of showing the little ones the art of tattooing was rejected."

"Really?" Alistair slurred.

"Didn't I mention I'm one of the volunteers? No? Well, now you know Zevran always helps when he's needed. I was surprised how well the human and elf get along... I mean the children, naturally. They are highly moldable, if you ask me."

"More for you, honey?" the dark-haired barmaid stopped at their table on her round of taking orders, batting her long eyelashes at Alistair.

"Well... why not, leave your tray with us." Zevran tried to say it with a straight face.

"They're... sure." she shrugged and left them the tray with ten filled mugs.

"So... tell me, why... are we... here again?" Alistair downed his last mug of ale. "Oh no, we run out of dogs again."

"That's... funny... I've only four... there should be one left for me." Zevran counted his mugs and then Alistair's, "Why, aren't you a thief king! There... six on your side!"

"How... dare you call me a thief! I'll... let... you know I'm no thief!" Alistair stood up and yelled, "I'm a king! I deserve six dogs!"

Zevran felt like someone just threw a bucket of cold water on him, and drained him of whatever drunkenness he let himself into.

"King... Alistair?" one of the drinkers standing at the bar counter squinted for a better look.

"Andraste's holy knickers! It's King Alistair!" the whole tavern came alive again with the news of king's presence. "W-where...?"

"Yes! It is I!" Alistair sounded proud of himself. Zevran covered his face in his palms.

"Everyone, drink... drink to your heart's content, all drinks on me!" Alistair bowed to the cheering crowd.

"W-what?" Zevran looked up.

Alistair reached for his waist pouch but felt nothing, he turned to Zevran, "Give me your pouch, Zevran."

Reluctantly, he gave it to Alistair, "A loan, Alistair. A loan."

Alistair snatched it over and dropped it on the counter, "Bring out your dogs as long as the pouch last!"

"Good on ya, lad!" one burly man slapped Alistair on the back. "Come, a toast... to the mighty king!"

"Toast!"

"Yeah, King Alistair!"

The toast went on for several rounds until one short guy with sunburned skin proposed a game of 'Crabs.' Tables and chairs were cleared to the side, and many crowded over, arguing who goes first. The burly man who toasted to Alistair stepped into the ring, and pointed his thick finger at Alistair. Everyone turned to Alistair and no one protested.

"Looks like your honor, go, my friend."

"I... I don't know what's 'crabs.'" Alistair walked forward unsteadily. He felt lighted-headed, his feet sometimes walked on ground and sometimes air. He wasn't used to getting drunk.

"No worries, my king. Just do 'em crab's moves, and make a guess on a number." the short sunburned guy nudged him.

"Yeah, four fingers from each of ya, you can't bet a number more than the total. That's... er... nine."

"Idiot! That's eight!"

"I know 'tis eight! Don't remember the word is all." the drunk barked back.

"You win you get a free ale... lose and you pay for the drink."

"He's paying anyhow!"

"Then make sure you get the drink!" everyone roared with laughter.

"There goes..." the crowd started to chant with the participating player.

O crap What are you Oh crab

One head and eight legs

Where you going O crab

A blink A shrink

Crawling... crawling...

The burly man imitated a crab with uncanny likeness, swinging his two strong arms like pincers and entertained the watching audience greatly. Alistair, who had no clue of what he was expected to do tried to imitate the burly man, falling a beat behind and often caught one act but missed the next few moves. Nonetheless he amused the audience equally.

"Oh, this is silly!" he laughed at himself, staggered slightly when he missed a step. A fellow caught him and pushed him back, "Remember to say your lucky number!"

"H-huh?" he heard someone shouted something... sounded like snake and his eyes caught the burly man flashing fingers out at him, instinctively he followed and shouted, "Twenty and four!"

Another roar of laughter from the crowd. Zevran was laughing so hard he'd almost rolled over.

"It's six all right." Both Alistair and the burly man had sticked out three of their fingers. Alistair smiled, thinking he did the 'Crabs' correctly, he had kept his honor... or was it his ale? No matter, he didn't lose.

"Bohlan won. The lad said 'twenty and four,' that's totally wrong! Way way wrong!"

"What kind of number is that? Don't he know he must pick a number between one and eight?"

"Um... maybe he don't know how to count, heh?"

"He's king and not a kid, moron!"

"Who you call moron?" the man jumped on the other, both tugging and twisting in a locked fight on the dirty floor. Some of the drunks cheered for them, taking side even.

"Oh-ho, don't fight! No fight, please!" Alistair easily pried them apart being a trained armsman, and made them shook hand. "We're brothers of Ferelden! We're one... big... family! Bring out drinks for these men! Come, cheers to brothers!"

"Cheers!" the word and clanging of mugs echoed through the small room. Everyone looked contented again.

"Come, let's dance! Someone fetch me a dress, and I'll do a Remigold here!" After his lost-count mug of ales, Alistair felt elated, something was lifted off his chest. In fact, he felt good.

"Remy's gold? What's that?"

"Aw. You don't know? I'll show you." Alistair poised with one hand high in the air, the other grabbed on a corner of his imaginary skirt. "Music, please."

Zevran had long given up on getting themselves out as fast as they could and instead embraced his philosophy of making the best of whatever situation he finds himself in. At Alistair's request, he began clapping his hand and tapping his feet rhythmically. The others soon joined in, clapping and tapping. With that, Alistair began his performance: tapping, leaping and twirling in what he thought he remembered from his muddled mind.

"By the Maker, that's a wench dance!"

"I can do one too." one cooed, and pulled his pants down, swirling his moon in slow deliberate circle, mimicking a woman's moan.

"That's disgusting! When's your last wash?"

Getting enthusiastic, Zevran jumped on a table and started dancing ecstatically, swaying his hips with a ghost lover. His slender elven form gave him credit as the most feminine among the thick-necked men. Several of them whistled and drew coins at his feet.

"Bravo!"

From his vantage, he saw the dark-haired barmaid fawning all over the overly-drunk Alistair, who wore a stoned smile on his face, obviously incapable of fending himself. He decided it's best he interfered lest the unthinkable happened. Forgetting he was standing on a table, he stumbled and took a handful of unstable drunks with him. They fell like dominoes toward Alistair; though the barmaid dodged in time, Alistair was knocked out when he hit his head on the stone floor. Zevran sighed, thinking at least he completed his mission. It was time to go.

* * *

"Were you always this heavy? Phew!" Half-carrying and half-dragging, Zevran managed to get both Alistair and himself back to the palace district. Day is breaking. His eyes a little blurry from the drinks and weariness of the night's episode.

"Is that the palace gate? I think it is! Wake up, my friend! You can stop pretending you're asleep," Zevran patted Alistair's cheek. "... if you're pretending. All right, what's another few step, right? Here we go." He tripped upon the first step he took and now he fell with Alistair's weight crushing on him.

"Oow." Zevran winced, and grimaced when he heard a light footsteps approaching. _Don't let it be Crows please_, he thought. It was not death he worried about but the predicament he was caught in. _This scent!_ He looked up and saw who it was. "Oh, it's you." he sighed in relief.

"Have fun?"

"Hm. I suppose we did." Zevran forced a smile between catching his breath and his effort of pushing Alistair off him.

"I'm glad."

"You're not giving me a hand here, Warden?" Zevran asked when he noticed the Warden turned to leave.

"You've managed this far, I'm sure you'll be fine. Besides, you reek worse than the dogs." Winona covered her nose with her hankie and walked off.


	3. Cutscene Two

**A/N**: These two Cutscenes are what I initially intended as chapter one and two, but I decided to drop them after giving much thoughts on how I want to tell the story. You can skip these or read them as extras. They are based on a timeline I wrote for happening of events, so they are related to the main story. If there's discrepancy to the MC's personality, it's because I'm still groping around and the latter should be more accurate as to what I want to portray. This is my first fanfic, there's bound to be errors and lots of experimenting. :D

* * *

Zevran peered out the window and saw that the sun had climbed high - it must be almost noon. He hurried with his washing: splashing cold water on his face and rubbing over with his hands; took a mouthful of water, gurgled and spat into the wash basin. Then he dried his face with a small towel, and looked satisfied with what he saw in the mirror. He threw the water out of the window, a cat meowed in protest and sped off a distant well away from any window before it tried shaking the water out.

"Sorry!" Zevran watched the cat lay back with open legs, trying to get warmth for its wet fur under the sun.

Chuckling to himself, Zevran returned to his own grooming - of his hair. He combed his hair back with meticulous patience till every single strand was smoothly pulled back; he started to do a braid to hold his smoothened hair in place. He looked at his light leather armor resting on top of his chest and decided against wearing them. Today was one of his volunteer's days to help with the children and he was late. He carefully slipped his daggers into the side of each of his boots. And now, he was ready.

Emerging from the guards' quarters, he took a shortcut that would take him through two courtyards. At one of the small gates that led to the second courtyard, he saw two guards approaching. When they past each other, the two guards gave him an acknowledging nod and continued on. Absently he returned a nod, but his mind was thinking about what to tell the Warden about his 'lateness.' Nothing moderately good came to mind, sighing, he took a deep breath and -

He spun round, his left hand grabbed the nearest guard's forehead and pinned his head back, his right hand deftly drew out the guard's dagger and slit his throat with it.

"W-what have you done!" the other guard shouted and swung his sword at him.

"Tsk. Such nerd rage!" Zevran ditched the dead guard aside and dodged the incoming blade with ease. He aimed his palm directly at the second guard's face, smashing his nose with all his strength. The guard stumbled backward in pain, his free hand gingerly covered his broken and bleeding nose.

"What unmanly yelp you made." Zevran teased as he circled to the back of the guard, gripping the guard's swordsarm down, and placed the borrowed dagger at his throat. "Tell me who sent you. Master Egor? Or that child-lover Adamir?"

"Ugh... I-I don't know..."

"Drop your pretense!" The dagger's tip dug deeper into the guard, drawing a tiny drop of blood. "Didn't they train you how to get near your target without announcing your identity? Did that change during my absence? This is Ferelden, I know it smells of wet dogs. I remember I almost gagged when I first came here, but I don't walk around with Antivan scent on me, and certainly not when on a job."

"Can't a man... use... foreign scent?" the guard tried to struggle himself free, but Zevran held him tight.

"Ah. Unfortunately not the Ferelden men. I'll let you in on a secret since you won't be living long enough to tell: sometimes their king smells like dog himself."

"You won't get away... you know that."

"I think I disagree with you. To send greens such as you... I say the Crows is slipping. But thanks for your concern, rest in peace." Zevran let go of the fallen body and the bloodied dagger and wiped his hands clean of any bloodstains on the dead guards.

He whistled an old Antivan tune as he walked on, only stopping by the palace gates to inform the duty guards about two bodies inside the courtyard, he continued his way to the market district. Now I have a perfect excuse, he mused.

* * *

When one of the chantry sisters told her Zevran hadn't turned up for his volunteer work, Winona proposed to take over his assigned group. She informed the sister she would take the children outdoor, somewhere outside Denerim. As she looked at the twelve eager little faces all beaming at her with excitement, she felt a surge of panic - the idea had struck her on a whim - as she realized she had more than herself to consider. Therefore she was vastly relieved when an initiate sister Emmirie asked to accompany them.

Fourteen of them hiked through the thin woods outside Denerim to get to the Drakon River. The guards had assured them the woods around Denerim were quite safe: no large predators and most straggled darkspawn attacks were reported to the north. Along the way, she explained some of the plants she recognized and their usefulness as herbs. Despite a few small incidents: a boy tripped himself on a protruding root and a couple of girls were spooked by some big bugs; they safely reached a large clearing that leads to the river bank. Here they rested and some of the bolder children waded into the shallow water and started their mischievous splashing. Sister Emmirie was hit while trying to get them out of the water.

Winona watched them from a high vantage: Sister Emmirie was chasing the boys with some elegant curses, most girls were either laughing at the boys or picking flowers. In one corner a little away from the others, Amethyne was showing Connor a butterfly that rested on her finger. Lady Isolde had trusted Winona enough to let Connor joined them occasionally, and it seemed Connor had found a friend outside his mother's protection.

The slow flowing water of Drakon River was a canvas of pretty picture when it mirrored the sky and the trees that flanked its bank. Sometimes a light would touch the water and start dancing across the surface as if to a tune only known to itself and leaving trails of glistening colors. Winona felt a calmness as she watched the play of lights on the river and inhaled the fresh wilderness air. It took her mind off her recent problem.

In the city, she had feel - trapped - by the constant assault of smell from everything she passed. Whether it was a cook with her prided dish or a lady wearing a perfume, it often took all her willpower to stop herself from gagging. She had tried all her healing spells and looked up tomes and scrolls about anything that might remotely similar to her case, but nothing worked and none that was useful turned up. She bit her lower lips. She felt perfectly all right except this near-obsessing consciousness of the olfactory sense. It was lucky that she found a temporary solution to her -

"Warden?" Zevran called her several times before he could get her attention. "What's on your mind? I've always a good listening ear, should you need my service."

"Zevran," Winona choked a little and coughed, "I-I... am fine. And where were you all morning?"

"About this... I hope you are more generous than Wynne, I find myself in need of a good bosom to tell my story."

"You have but five seconds to tell it or..." Winona threatened impatiently.

"All right, all right. I had a visit from the Crows again." Zevran stared at her, he could swear the threat behind her words sounded real.

"Don't move," Winona cast a cleansing spell on Zevran. She recited her incantation a little hasty and the cleansing wave washed over Zevran with less than its full effect should Zevran was really wounded. She doubted Zevran would notice the difference, and she wasn't about to confess to him.

_Hehe_.

A very discomforting shrill laugh made Winona cringed. It seemed both distant and close; Winona shot Zevran a suspicious look.

"I'm... not hurt actually." Zevran said when he noticed she was watching him closely. He followed Winona as she gathered the children for heading back to Denerim.

"Aw. We're going back already?" Amethyne asked, "And here you are, Zevran. Did you oversleep again?"

"It's Brother Zevran to you, Amethyne. Yes... no, I mean no. I was..."

Winona walked ahead of everyone and tried to block out all noise around her, concentrating only on her breathing - taking slow, deep breath - to bring her willpower to a greater focus. She tried to keep out the dread that was building with each step she took towards Denerim. One simple thought at a a time, like what she was taught at the beginning of her magic training: breathe, slowly... deeply.

Slow... and deep...

She sensed the sweet smell of the trees and the grass; and the wind brushed against her hair... carrying something in it... a greasy-haired smell; she quickly bit down her lower lip to curb the nausea and the rising bile in her throat, until she tasted blood in her mouth. She pretended to be inspecting a leaf when she heard someone.

"Warden? Oh, isn't that elfroot? You explained earlier it's for... er..." Sister Emmirie searched hard for the answer that evaded her.

"I think it's might rain soon, ask the children to hurry."

"Oh, all... right." Sister Emmirie was sure the sky looked clear but she wasn't about to argue with the hero of Ferelden.

* * *

"Warden, wait!" Zevran came running up. "I wish to talk to you. Oh, the children are waving, aren't you going to respond?" Zevran waved back at them, as Sister Emmirie was trying to get them back inside the chantry.

"Do you think they will become brothers and sisters one day? Sometimes I wonder if it wasn't a sinister plot of the Chantry to take care of orphans so that they could brainwash the little ones."

"Not everyone has the luxury of a choice."

"I rather think everyone makes their choices. Some choices are simply... harder than the others."

"Send my regards to your mother, Connor." Winona released her hold on Connor's hand when they stopped outside Chancellor Eamon's estate.

"I will. Thank you, Warden. And thank you, Master Zevran." Connor took a step and turned back suddenly, "Um, Warden, so I'll see you tonight?"

"Yes, Connor."

"All right." he smiled and skipped away.

"What's that about tonight?"

"His magical training. And what is it you wish to talk about?" Winona asked as she continued her way through the market which seemed unusually busy. Her eyes wandering between the faces of customers that were plump with sovereigns in their pockets and those that were shy with only coppers.

"About my choices." Zevran kept up with her stride.

"You're thinking... of leaving Denerim?" Surprised, Winona slowed her pace and looked at Zevran.

"Yes. All this time, I thought only two choices lay for me: to be a dead elf, like what the Crows wishes of me; or, to keep running and stay alive from their assassins." Zevran paused, thinking over what he was going to say, "I just found my third choice: to take the fight back to the Crows, for my freedom."

"Zevran..." Winona studied his profile, there seemed to be a resolution behind his set jaw. "Very well, we make our stand in Antiva."

Zevran caught her arm, forcing her to face him. "No, Warden. I'm going back alone."

"Alone? Against the Crows you've been telling us about their grisly tales in the camp? That's an insane choice."

"Even so... Besides, you're not exactly in any shape to help me."

"Excuse me?"

"By the river, I was right in front, calling you and you hadn't the slightest idea. Something's troubling you... I know it's useless to pry if you do not wish to share. Dealing with the Crows, however, you are not afforded such luxury of distraction, my dear Warden. I'm going back to Antiva alone." Zevran let go of her arm, "Aw. Don't look so grim, I wouldn't do it if I did not think I have a chance."

"Warden! Warden!" The scent merchant Liselle saw them and motioned for Winona to join her.

"Warden, it is good to see you. We've heard about the ball to be held next month and looking forward to it. The jeweler Osker is especially exhilarated by this news. He is expecting orders from the nobles very soon."

"Ball?" Winona asked distractedly.

"Yes. A celebration for the restored palace and to thank the nobles for their generosity, I believe. You must have heard of this, Warden?" Liselle asked in surprise.

"Of course she has. It probably slips her mind being busy and such." Zevran smiled charmingly.

Liselle blushed under his gaze and mumbled her excuse as soon as two well-dressed ladies approached her store.

"Are you... are you staying for it?"

"I'm leaving tonight," Zevran shook his head, and sniffed at one of the oils he picked up randomly from Liselle's display. "It's for the best, I think. It wouldn't be nice if the Crows made another attempt and by the Maker's will some fat noble took the hit for me... you know, the other nobles might hold Alistair responsible." After a slight pause, "Besides, I don't exactly have a dance partner."

Silence settled as both pretended to browse the variety of bottles on the table.

"Will you do me one last favor before you go then?" asked Winona finally as she glanced sideway at Zevran.

"My massage service is always open, Warden." Zevran deadpanned.

"Will you do ear-piercing for me? Just the left ear," she ignored Zevran, jest or not.

Zevran raised one brow. "That's easy. Be right back." Winona watched him hurried away and soon lost him in the crowd.

"Warden," Liselle came back, smiling. "I have something for you, Warden."

From a locked chest, Liselle took out a small oval-shaped glass bottle and handed it to Winona.

"I collected the ingredients and mixed the oils myself," she explained, "I want you to have it, Warden."

"I-I... thank you, Liselle," Winona hesitated, fearing her recent illness may betray her, she'd been breathing through her mouth. The liquid inside was clear like water, looking harmless.

"Rub some on your hand, and tell me what you think." Liselle urged her.

Winona did as she was asked to, all the time holding her breath. She hoped she could bluff her way out.

"Well? Do you like it? You would never guessed what oil I used for the base," Liselle explained excitedly, "The elves' Vhenadahl tree! It was a discovery quite by chance. On an impulse I decided to try extracting its oil, it turned out better than I expected. It has a strong and lingering scent, and other interesting characteristics. I will need to experiment more. But I've decided to present you its first finished scent. I was told you defended the alienage."

"The Vhenadahl tree?" Winona looked at the clear liquid again, intrigued. She took a delicate sniff and was nearly overpowered: It wasn't repugnance like every other smell she inhaled; it was flowery, green and earthy... a sweet remembrance of a flourishing full-bloom garden.

"I've used as many as twelve types of oils...," Liselle went on with her tirade on the oils and the difficulties of getting the right mix. "... I used the vhenadahl oil for the base, also oak and sandal... other oils like rose and lavender... complements the other scents very well and... "

Her mind started racing. The scent was strong, no doubt, but was otherwise strangely sweet and it may cover up other pungent smell. She took another whiff - still nothing, no nausea. Winona felt a tinge of hope. Until she could find out what was wrong with her smell sense, she reasoned.

"I'm thinking what should I call it..."

"Liselle," Winona took her hands in hers, "Do you have more of this?"

"N-no, I've only made a bottle. I could make more if you wish. Though it would take a couple of weeks at least."

"Yes, please make more. It means a lot to me."

"Sure, Warden. I am pleased you like it so much. 'Vhenadahl Charm,' that's what I'm going to call it!" Liselle was satisfied.

Winona played with the precious perfume in her hand as she waited for Zevran. Each time she shook the bottle, countless tiny bubbles formed at the bottom and swarmed towards the surface, she opened the stopper a little and inhaled deeply.

"Warden..." Zevran came back, out of breath and with a cloth packet under his arm. "Shall we begin?"

He motioned for Winona to sit down, and spread his little packet beside her. Inside were a long silver needle, a small bottle of whisky, a little stub of candle. Lighting the candle, he heated the needle over it till a layer of soot formed over the silvery surface. He wiped the soot off and rinsed the needle using the whisky he brought. He poured some over his fingers and began massaging her left-ear lobe. He kept repeating the process of rubbing whisky onto her ear lobe, Winona started to feel nausea again from the waft of whisky.

"Ahem," she coughed plainly.

"Patience, my dear woman. This is an important procedure for the piercing. But I think it's sufficient." He opened his palm.

Winona's brows raised in question.

"You do have a earring with you, I hope."

She placed a jeweled earring on his palm. He picked up the silver needle and hovered over her ear lobe, and paused when he noticed an apple rested on the edge of Liselle's table.

"That's mine. What -"

Zevran pressed the apple under Winona's earlobe and in one quick pierce, the needle went through, its tip sank inside the apple. He removed the apple and inserted the earring before he ran the whole needle through her lobe.

Winona hardly felt any pain. She touched the earring that now wore on her left ear, a mere slight weight.

"I hope you are pleased with my service," Zevran smiled slyly. "Ahh. I believe half of Denerim's ladies are going to miss a most charming elf."

"Zevran," Winona bit her lower lips, "If I assure you I won't be distracted like I did today, would you reconsider taking company?"

"I appreciate your offer," Zevran said in a rare serious tone, "As regretfully as I am, I have to decline you. I'm sorry, Warden." He took her hand to his lips, "I wish you well... do take care, my dear Warden."

Winona swallowed hard, an unexplained sadness filled her as she looked at Zevran. Most of their Blight-battling companions had continued with their own path, and now the last remaining friend had decided to forge his own fate.

"You too," she hugged him a full minute before releasing him. "Promise me that we'll meet again."

"Warden..." Zevran sighed as though he'd been asked to bring back a stone from the moon. As he thought about his bleak task ahead, he felt there really wasn't much difference, he broke into his smile, "As you command, Warden. We'll meet again." At least it's something to look forward to, he thought.

* * *

Opening her bedroom door, Winona was startled to find Alistair sitting on the sofa, his armored legs resting on a side table.

"Oh, you're back. I've been waiting for you," he waved a letter in his hand, "Guess who wrote?"

"To you?" Winona moved to the windows, debating if she should risk opening one. His questionable hygiene habit never changed much even if they're no longer on the road, or living in a palace filled with servants and plenty of hot water. To chill or to choke, she sighed inwardly.

"Ah, I can't tell you."

"For Grey Wardens?" She opened one slightly, letting in a gust of chilly air.

"Aw. You're no fun." Alistair acted disappointed but he rose up from the sofa cheerfully. "From the First Warden himself."

"Is he asking about why didn't we die along with the archdemon again?" Winona's heart skipped. Though she never quite admitted to herself nor Alistair, she knew that the deal she made with Morrigan could be the gravest wrong decision she ever made. And it was followed by another wrong decision for letting herself be persuaded against telling the other Wardens the truth.

"No. But I'd rather he did than this..."

"What's the matter? What does he want now?" Winona felt her heart beating wildly when she saw Alistair walked over to her. She feared to linger around him, even with her new-armed perfume.

"He wants the Wardens of Ferelden to start finding new recruits before the Orlesian Wardens' arrival." Alistair passed the letter to Winona. "That means you, my dear."

"Hmm. So he's finally stationing more Wardens here. I thought he gave up on Ferelden." Winona crossed over to the sofa and sat down as she read the letter.

"Not after I gave the Wardens Amaranthine, I'm sure. Anyhow, what do you intend to do?" Alistair watched her, trying to fathom her expression.

"It would seem as the only Warden left in Ferelden, I've no excuse not to do as he asked."

"Ha! Do you regret putting me on the throne now?"

"Do you still not like being king?"

"Never entertained the thought, never liked it before," Alistair shrugged, "However, I think I might start to enjoy being king after all. You know, the grand cleric wrote to request an audience with me as soon as she's back from some convention of clerics, or whatever, in Val Royeaux. Requesting! I would never have imagined that proud old cat wrote and requested to see me! It used to take only a summon order..." Alistair lost in his thoughts for a few moments. "I suppose now I get to speak on par with her, not just looking at my feet and 'Yes, your Grace,' after her every sentence. Oh yes, I'll be looking forward to this meeting with her." Alistair whistled.

"Why did she want to see you?"

"I don't know, now that you mentioned... What is it that she can't wait and has to arrange a meeting even before her return? What if she never returned? A bandit got her and I would never find out... Now I'm a bad, bad person!"

Winona pondered over what Alistair said. She wouldn't treat this meeting so light-heartedly as Alistair. She remembered the look Grand Cleric Elemena gave her when she asked Alistair for a boon: the independence of the Circle of Magi. It was a icy cold shot of immense disapproval as if... as if she had stepped on the Maker's foot. Now she was joking like Alistair, she bit her lips and tried to clear her mind.

"A sovereign for your thought?" Alistair sat down again beside her, "I hope you're not thinking of leaving right away?"

"Huh? The recruitment? I'm not even sure where to begin."

"Let me make a suggestion: why not start with Denerim? I'm sure there are many talented men and women waiting to join the Grey Wardens, you know, after our feat with the archdemon. Maybe you won't even have to look elsewhere."

"And just take in anyone who's interested?" She frowned at what she thought was a stench. Suddenly the room started to feel suffocating with each breath she drew. She searched for the perfume bottle from her bag.

"Only the very talented ones? I'm sure you'll figure out what to do eventually, you always do." Alistair smiled and scooted closer, "All I ask is that you stay for the ball. Will you?"

"Well, is that an order?"

"It could be..." Alistair leaned in to kiss her when he stopped abruptly, his eyes glanced to-and-fro sideway, "Wait..."

He scanned round the room, checking under sofas and behind curtains.

"What are you doing?"

"Just checking. You can't be too careful when you have a sneaky friend..."

"You mean Zevran? He left Ferelden."

"What? You sure?" Alistair stared in disbelief. "Whoa, this is... news. Did he say why? No, never mind, I'm don't think I really wish to know."

"Don't you care that our friends left..."

"Blight's over, everyone needs to move on. Maybe we'll see them again, who knows. We have each other. To me, that's what matters most." Alistair tucked away a fallen wisp of hair from her face.

"Did you hear that?" A low noise seemed to be outside the door.

"Now what? Let me deal with this intruder." Alistair tiptoed to the door, placing his hand on the handle, he nodded at Winona before he yanked the door open, "Who -"

A giant shadow jumped at Alistair, causing him to leap back instinctively but the shadow was using him as a springboard, its legs kicked against Alistair and propelled toward Winona.

"Hey!" Alistair tried to grab the legs of the intruder but he wasn't quick enough and the recoil caused him to stagger. He turned to the intruder as soon as he regained his balance. "Barkspawn!"

"Duncan!" Winona was delighted to see her mabari even though he pounced up at her, knocking her back. She fell back to the sofa, her faithful mabari licking her happily. "Stop, Duncan, please."

"Get down, Barkspawn! You're snatching my job!"

The mabari barked excitedly and rolled on its back, while Winona rubbed its belly.

"Your dog needs to be taught some manners. Where have you been anyway, disappearing and reappearing as you please?"

"I have some bread in my pack if you want." The dog panted in anticipation. Winona removed his collar while he chewed at the dry bread.

"Go eat your bread - elsewhere. Move your fat butt, Barkspawn."

"Don't be so mean. He did no wrong, right Duncan?" Winona scratched behind his ears. "How could you not love him?"

"My love for a Duncan is already taken up, sorry pal. But I may still have love for a Barkspawn. What do you say?"

The mabari finished his bread and barked happily at Alistair.

"Don't listen to Alistair. He's bad with names."

"Hey, I resent that. Barkspawn has a ring of originality to it, you know. I bet you won't find another Barkspawn."

"Exactly." An idea struck her while she waited for a wave of nausea to pass, "Here, let me rub this on both of you."

She pulled out the stopper, the rising scent filled the air around it. The dog sneezed and whined.

"What's that? Perfume? Whoa! No, no, I'm meeting Eamon later. In fact, I think I have to go now." Alistair stood up, "Night, my dear." Alistair escaped after giving her a quick peck.

Sighing, Winona rubbed some on Duncan's back. He gave up his resistance after a while and lay down comfortably beside her, scratching his nose occasionally. Leaning back, she looked at the collar in her hands. Flipping over, she extracted a carefully folded scroll hidden between the leather layers. She sat up and pored over the scroll eagerly.


	4. A King's Duty

~{**1**}~

Rebuilding work on Ferelden's prided city - Denerim - had been well underway with the help of her resilient denizens: her new king, nobles and commoners united under a common cause. Most would have liked to think the darkspawn assault was nothing but a nightmare, or stories told among travelers. The remnants remained despite these wishes, and reports of small darkspawn attack straggling north continued to pour in.

When King Alistair put forward the idea of a royal ball, he had never expected such an unanimous support from his council of advisors, nor foresaw the chains of events he would set rolling after his proposal. He had certainly never seen a project so actively discussed and efficiently planned. At the end of the meeting, all preparatory details had been decided.

The news was announced: To celebrate the restoration of Denerim Palace and appreciation for the generosity shown by the nobles. Formal invitations were sent. Every lord and lady seemed to have found a new purpose to their dreary routine and rose to it with energetic vigor, thus influencing their servants into the same frenzy of assisting their master and mistress to get ready for the ball.

The roads to Denerim was soon a stream of heavy traffic with nobles and their families, servants and guards; a parade of riches and a welcome business for those villages and towns that offered rest-stop along the roads. It was said bandits had watched from afar, in awe.

As the big day drew near, most merchants of Denerim had witnessed record-high sales they hadn't seen in years. It was so especially for those selling fineries. Rumors circulating told of a shocking shortage of silk, and sought-after tailors demanding sabbatical from weeks of non-stop work. The common folk would complain about the sudden steep price in meat due to a fallen supplies.

On the whole, the ball was a much welcome break and had given the Fereldens something to concern themselves with - their new bachelor king.

~{**2**}~

"Eamon! What do you think?" Alistair raised his arms and turned a round, waiting for Chancellor Eamon's opinion.

"You're going to wear that for the ball?" Eamon took a seat diagonally across from Alistair, crossing his legs at ease.

"Why not? It'd been cleaned and polished." Alistair looked at himself in the mirror again for the fifth - maybe more - time, but he didn't want to own up to his insecurity about what awaiting him: that he was going to walk into a room of smiling wolves, all hungering for a piece of him, in one way or another. "I look tough and prepared."

"I hope you're not taking too literally when I said the nobles are a pack of wolves waiting for their chance." Eamon stroked his beard, his eyes met Alistair's inside the mirror.

"N-no. I think I look best in armor." This was true. Alistair, through his constant training and countless fights since the Blight, had a well-formed athletic body and his rugged features was accentuated by his gold and silver heavy plate armor. The other reason he did not divulge however, was he'd always preferred his cotton tunics to the silk ones, and apparently they weren't good enough for the nobles.

"Yes, I agree," replied Eamon after a moment, then he turned to Alistair's guard captain, "Captain Drake, will you and your men leave us for a few moments."

Alistair nodded. Captain Drake and three other guards cleared the room.

"What's this secrecy?" Alistair tried to sound lighthearted but he thought he gulped a little too loud.

"You do understand what this ball's about, Alistair?"

"Yes... You asked me to propose a ball under the pretense of celebration -"

"Not a pretense, Alistair. We are celebrating. You helped save the city, and now rebuilding it. Trade has resumed with our neighbors. Slowly but surely, people start to pick up their lives before the Blight. This is a new beginning, for Ferelden." Eamon walked over to Alistair and laid his hand on Alistair's shoulder, his grip turned firm. "And you, Alistair, is her new king. You will lead her and her people."

"Sounds easy..." Alistair gulped in apprehension.

"You've asked many questions about Maric and his rule. You're Maric's son, of Theirin bloodline, that will never change. But being king is not asking you to be somebody else. You're not Maric, Alistair, and you don't have to be him to be a good king. You've shown yourself brave, compassionate and dutiful," Eamon smiled, "That is a good start."

"I... uh, thank you." Alistair's eyebrows arched with this new piece of knowledge. Judging from Eamon's sighs and shaking of heads after their nightly studies and discussions on the art of governance, he certainly wasn't expecting such praises from him. Of course he said nothing about his intellect, Alistair almost sighed.

"However, you would need the support of the nobles. You remember what I told you about the politics of Ferelden."

"Yes. The source of a king's power." Ha, a pop test, Alistair was happy he remember this bit. "Well, it's unlikely they'll do as I command, 'Give me your support! Now!' 'Yes, my king. Here, take it.'" Alistair mimicked and stopped when he caught Eamon's disapproved look. He returned with his usual sheepish grin.

"Hence, your first task tonight is to get to know these people, and befriend them."

"What? Don't you know friendship can't be forced. What if they don't like me? Or more importantly, I don't like them?"

"I trust you are capable to make judgement who you'd like to keep as close friends and those who'd suffice on friendly terms." Eamon beamed at Alistair, "From what I heard, most of the palace servants and guards are quite fond of you. You have an easy manners that people look to."

"You... did a survey on my popularity?" Alistair felt his jaw drop.

"No, I paid attention to what servants said sometimes." Eamon gave a loud dry cough.

"Oh."

"It's good that our hero stays for tonight. Her presence will be seen as a reaffirmed allegiance to you and this is most advantageous to us."

"I did not ask Win to stay for this purpose." Alistair replied flatly. When Winona received a missive from the First Warden detailing her work of finding new recruits before the arrival of Orlesian Wardens, Alistair had asked her to defer the mission till after the ball.

"I'm aware of your feelings for her." Eamon and Alistair locked eyes. "This brought up my concern, Alistair. You know your other duty as king, don't you?"

"Yes. Find a queen and get as many children out of her as possible. Thanks to your constant reminder."

"I rather think three is good enough and ideally two princes and a princess." Eamon ignored Alistair's undertone and rubbed his hands together thoughtfully. "The nobles are well aware of your duty. Tonight would be a great opportunity to pick out candidates for your queen."

Alistair knew the royal ball wouldn't be just a simple night of dancing. After months of guidance and tutoring under Eamon, he had opened eyes to the shrewd side of whom he'd always thought just a quiet good man. Whatever Eamon might have planned for him, Alistair had a very different agenda in mind. How would the nobles react if he execute his plan, he thought, a pity the grand cleric was off to Val Royeaux for some convention... He could imagine her choking on her wine when he -.

"We've been through this, Alistair. I thought you understood." Eamon sighed.

"I do." Alistair snapped, a little to his regret. "But it's my life! And I'm king! Don't I have the right to at least choose my own queen?"

"Alistair, I do not wish to see your reign short-lived." said Eamon with solemnity. "As your Chancellor, I advise you to think it over carefully. The queen has her duty of producing an heir for you. Didn't you say yourself it's not recommendable or even impossible for two... tainted persons to have a child at all?"

"What would you advise, then, not as my chancellor? As... a friend?" Alistair watched Eamon intensely and thought he saw a resignation flicked across his countenance.

"Alistair," Eamon turned away from Alistair and said, "I would still advise you the same thing." He paused, touching and turning the gold band on his finger for a long moment before he continued, "It was a very difficult time for Isolde and I... You can't know what it was like, Alistair, but I love her. I was only an arl then and you are a king."

"Win is the hero of Ferelden. People love her. It's not the same with you and Isolde."

"Not all that different when comes to the stubborn notions of nobles. You think you have the power to keep them in line, Alistair? Or the Warden? If killing every opposing noble is an option, I would have no doubt both you would make the strongest monarch Ferelden ever had."

"Maybe that's not such a bad idea," Alistair chortled. "Um... I was just joking, Eamon." added Alistair meekly after an awkward silence.

"I only ask you to be prudent before you make any haste decision."

"I love her." Alistair said quietly.

"Maker help you, Alistair. I think enough said. If you're ready, let the show begin." Eamon walked out without looking at Alistair.

~{**3**}~

Denerim Palace, or simply the palace - for no one seemed to know its name - was not a lavish sight to behold, but some would say it provided a sense of comfort within its sturdy and angular shape walls when pressed. It had not suffered as much damage as other parts of the city; the main horde of the darkspawn was diverted to Fort Drakon when they reached the palace district. Many stone sculptures of Ferelden's famous kings survived the siege and remained standing in the big courtyard inside the gates.

The ball brought the excitable lords and ladies together, dressed in colorful apparels and glittering jewelry; their cheerful mood was a stark contrast to the weary-worn look of the past kings as they slowly made their way to the great hall. Two watchful doormen positioned at the entrance readied to announce the so-and-so lord and lady.

"Teyrna Anora of Gwaren," Anora Mac Tir Theirin was the first to cross the threshold. Looking ravishing and confident, she led a small chatting group behind her.

"Teyrn Fergus and Lady Elissa of Highever," Fergus Cousland and his sister were chatting in low voice interspersed with laughs, warranted a few glances from Anora.

"Arl Vaughan of Denerim and er..." Vaughan Kendells glared at the squirming doorman and whispered something in his ear. "Er... cousin, um, Lady Garina."

"O-hoho," a group of meddlesome servants watching the proceedings from the far end of corridor that led to the great kitchen, laughed at the blunder of the doorman. "Poor Alfonzo!"

"I know Vaughan, a pompous fool, that's what he's. And a pervert elf-lover." one of them commented and was nudged at the chest by an elven maid. "Ow. I'm sorry, but 'tis true! You be careful when around him, don't say ol' Burk didn't warn you!"

"What ugly dress she's wearing! And hideous color!" the elven maid said vehemently. "I like Anora's better."

"Dumb-ass! That's the newest fave from Orlais, called... oh yes, 'purple.' Cost a fortune. You sure don't have to worry about getting to wear - ouch!" crooked-tooth Henrick winced.

"What do you know!"

"Well, me wife's cousin work for that tailor Gardin. He says that old cock wouldn't let any apprentice near those purples."

"Hmph!" she watched Lady Garina laughing at her partner's words, her purple silken dress flowed elegantly behind her as they entered the dining hall.

"Maker's breath! Where's everyone?" grand cook Elise stormed out. "What's this? Do you want to get the switch? Get back to work! Move!" she roared at the group of insolent servants. At her roar, they scurried away like scattered rats. "As if I'm not busy enough..."

~{**4**}~

When the grand cook was roaring at the servants, at the furthest corner of the guest wing, Winona lay sprawled on her bed, engrossed in taking notes and updating her journal for her magic research. Several scrolls, an old tome and a thick missive spread out in front for her reference. Her mabari snuggling beside her, rose his head suddenly, taking long sniff at the air.

"What's wrong, Duncan?" Winona asked without taking her eyes off her notes, her quill working furiously on the parchments.

The mabari jumped off the bed, the sudden release of his weight nearly toppled the ink bottle.

"Duncan!" Winona caught the bottle before any harm done and shot him a glance. He was scratching and sniffing under the door. Something dawned on her.

"Oh no, is it that late?" It had to be. She lighted the candles a while ago... a long while ago. Winona got up and hurried to the door, still clutching the ink bottle. She'd hoped to find a servant, but there was none in sight, not even a guard. However the empty passageway was already lit. The lights danced about in the wind blowing through the open archway to the walled-in fountain court. It carried a very faint music.

Winona closed the door. Her dog whimpered quizzically at her. "I... I need to change first. Wait here." He barked in an urging tone.

This morning at breakfast, Alistair whispered, "I've sent you a surprise. Check your room later." and winked at her before he left with Eamon. When she returned from Lady Isolde and Connor, a servant handed her a stunning robe, the type she used to jokingly comment to Leliana as expensive-and-trickery. She had left it draped over the top of an old iron chest at the foot of the bed. Now she picked it up and held it in front as she checked out in the mirror.

She moved one hand down the flowing robe. A long sleeve gown of soft crushed velvet and rich embroidered taffeta in deep burgundy. It was beautiful. She slipped the robe on and frowned at what she saw. The gown hung loosely and wrinkly on her petite frame which failed to hold up the appropriate curvy parts. She looked ridiculous! Even if the robe was the right size - she pulled the silky fabric into a tight-hug - something was still out of place, the robe did not suit her elvish features. Her thoughts wandered dangerously on negative conclusion... No. Alistair would not mock her like this. She let out a heavy sigh as she pulled the gown off.

Leliana had talked a lot about fashion; one of her favorite theses was everyone had a unique style that would bring out the inner charm and grace of the wearer. Morrigan, despite her rag-tag style, had turned heads as much as her icy glare repelled their advances. Leliana thought the tear-and-show heightens Morrigan's wild and sexy appeal. For Wynne and herself, there was only mage robe. While Wynne looked contented and poised, she admitted she had occasionally wondered what it's like to spend time 'dolling oneself,' as Zevran had liked to tease Leliana whenever she spent too much time with her mirror.

To be honest, she did not dislike her mage robe, such as the one she donned back. 'This Reaper's Vestment was Tevinter cut,' the proprietor of Thedas of Wonder explained, 'Reaper was an apostate mage who evaded the templars for many years before being captured. Part villain, part folk hero, it is said he led a charmed life avoiding dangers that would have killed lesser men.' When she saw the enchantments on the robe, she paid the gold happily. She had wore it for the battle with the archdemon. If it was good for the old god, she reckoned it was also good for facing the human nobles.

Behind her the mabari barked again, reminding her they were late. "Coming," she tucked away a wisp of fallen hair as she grabbed her staff. Her mabari whined confusedly at her. "You're right... we're going to a ball," Winona sighed.

~{**5**}~

The hallways seemed long and without an end for those in hurry. Several servants and guards they passed looked surprised to see them.

"Hurry, my lady. I think it's only the fifth course." one elven maid told her. Winona nodded and made haste to the great hall. Once she saw the big oaken door, she slowed to a walk, trying to catch her breath. She paused at the door when she caught her mabari looking at her, tongue hanging out and eyes lit up.

"Ready?" The dog wagged his tail excitedly. She took a deep breath and opened the door.

She blinked. It was empty. There were a few servants busy with arrangements, one working closest to them stared up in astonishment.

"Warden?" he said and pointed a finger to a door next to him. "They're all next door, Warden."

So she made an error, Winona exhaled in relief. She thanked the man and headed to the door as told.

Her eyes began searching for Alistair as soon as she entered. Clinking of goblets and loud chatting voices filled the brightly-lit hall. Rows of nobles lined three long tables, digging in to the cuisines brought in by pretty maids. She found Alistair in the middle table, flanked by Eamon and Anora and his opposite were all taken up by young ladies with thick makeup. Alistair seemed to be concentrating on his food with his head overly-lowered, but his ears were a shade of beet red.

No one appeared to notice her entry and Winona intended to keep that way as she quietly made her way to an empty seat she spotted at the end of another table. A few seats from her destination, one lady happened to put down her cutlery and looked around. She frowned at Winona initially but turned into a awkward smile when she seemed to recognize the elven mage. Her smile froze when her eyes dropped to a lower level around Winona's knees.

~{**6**}~

Alistair wished he could erect some sort of screen to shield himself against the constant stare and scrutiny of the young ladies surrounding him. The attention did not give him any superiority satisfaction. Instead, it made him sweat profusely and his food near-tasteless. And the questions! Maker's sizzling blood!

"King Alistair, do you not like the cheesy scallops?" one of the young ladies with blonde-curls asked again, forgetting she made a similar query for the earlier shrimp soup. "I think it's very nicely done!"

"Of course... uh, it's indeed..." Alistair felt uncommonly hot inside his metal suit. Now he started to question his wisdom of wearing one to a crowded, enclosed room. He stole a glance at the person on his left: Chancellor Eamon appeared to be in deep conversation with his neighbors of elderly lords, most of whom he vaguely recognized but failed to remember their names.

"I think the added bread crumbs is so clever!" a dark-haired girl from one of the southern bannorns chimed in eagerly. "The palace has a formidable cook, I'd say. How lucky you are, your Majesty!" She chuckled and batted her long eyelashes in Alistair's direction.

"I've never heard of your bannorn, do you have a proper cook at all? Or does your maid have to balance her chores?" the blonde-curls lady narrowed her eyes at the dark-haired intruder.

"Y-you... H-how dare you!" the jeweled pin on the dark-haired girl shook in response to her anger.

"Um... la-ladies," Alistair groaned. "Come on, it's a ball. We're supposed to hold hands and laugh together?" A snicker made Alistair turned abruptly. He caught Anora wiping her chin with her napkins.

"Tell her to curb her tongue then, your Majesty!"

"Look who's talking!" Both were unwilling to back down and hoped King Alistair would come to their aid.

"Ignore them, your Majesty. That's what I'd do," another blonde lady, whom had been introduced to Alistair by Arl Vaughan as his cousin, winked and whispered in a conspiratorial tone. Her words were nevertheless overheard by the two pouting ladies, instantly earning her their glares. She didn't seem to notice or she didn't care as she picked up her wine, her eyes beaming at Alistair.

Alistair used his napkin to wipe his sweat. He noticed Anora dropped hers. "Oh dear..." Anora gasped softly.

"Here, let me..." Alistair picked it up and held out to Anora.

"Thank you," Anora smiled gratefully. "I would've thought you learned to deal with such situations from the council meetings; yet here you fumbled in front of a group of silly naive girls." She whispered as they were only inches away.

"They're different!"

"Only you think so." With that, Anora turned to her other neighbor and seemed to lose interest in Alistair.

Alistair never felt more alone this moment, where most around him were either engaged in uproarious twitter or good-natured banter. Even the bickering ladies seemed to be having fun throwing spiced words at each other. His eyes swept the hall again, Winona was not among them. Nothing was going according to plans at all. He resigned himself to a night of frustration.

"What's on your mind, King Alistair?" Blonde-curls touched his hand gently, her concern sounded genuine. "Please know you can always share your thoughts with me. I'm here for you."

"You should be careful who you speak your heart to, your Majesty. There are people who don't discriminate between confidentiality and gossip. I wouldn't want to see you hurt when your words got around."

"Y-you..." Dark-haired smirked at Blonde-curls who was at a loss of words.

"Ohh," Arl Vaughan's cousin cooed. "It is really sweet of you to throw this ball, my king. I'm really looking forward to a dance with you!"

"Ah yes, King Alistair, you should ask Garina to dance. She's a superb dancer. Not to mention she spent the whole month getting ready for your ball ever since the announcement!" Arl Vaughan laughed, putting an arm round his cousin.

"Vaughan!" Lady Garina nudged her cousin but she did not seem embarrassed at all. The other ladies became silent and Alistair could feel all eyes concentrated on him.

"The dance... I'm afraid I'm already engaged for the first dance..." Alistair's voice wavered as he remembered Winona was still absent. Maybe he should send a servant to check out.

"Well, you are not stopping after one dance, I hope. Garina could have your next dance. This is her first time to Denerim, you wouldn't disappoint a young lady's wish, would you, my dear king?" Arl Vaughan winked at Alistair.

"Well..." Alistair frowned at a tug on his leg, someone's hem caught on his armor spike again. Really, had I not wore my armors... Alistair stopped in his track of thoughts when he realized whoever the culprit, she was not trying to kick him. He turned his attention back to his food and tried hard to taste them, again he could feel the heat engulfing him.

A din broke out several rows away at another table. Alistair was disinterested and would have kept poking at his scallops had he not heard a dog's bark. He looked in that direction with hope. He was not disappointed when he saw Winona and Barkspawn, she was pulling Barkspawn's collar, who seemed to be overexcited and ready to pounce on a terrified old lady. He couldn't help smiling as he pictured Barkspawn decided to help himself to other people's food.

Barkspawn was duly scolded and obviously told to back down, Alistair could see him lowering his head, whining. His eyes followed them as they took their seat at the end of the table. Barkspawn sat on the floor beside Winona. Few moments later, two maids brought their food, Barkspawn's was served with his very own silver bowl, with his full name 'Duncan Barkspawn' engraved on it.

The silver bowl and his new brown leather collar were joint-gifts from him and Winona. They decided the the dog deserved rewards of his own. The collar had a small silver plate attached carved with 'Duncan Barkspawn' as was his bowl. Only difference was he had taken the liberty to add a line on the back: 'If found, at your disposal.'

Alistair still ate without tasting but he didn't mind that much now.

Minstrels were engaged to perform during the whole course of dinner, and they did their job conscientiously even though most of the diners were oblivious to them. An Orlesian bard holding a harp took her place and said, "This is an aria from one of our famous ballads, I hope you'll enjoy as much as I enjoy performing this beautiful piece." She bowed slightly, 'Think of Me.'


End file.
